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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27781783">Quarantine</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/catmanu/pseuds/catmanu'>catmanu</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Men's Football RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Airplane Sex, Coronavirus, M/M, Movren Mentions, Not me getting inspired by instagram videos again..., Oral Sex</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-11 00:41:36</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,427</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27781783</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/catmanu/pseuds/catmanu</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“We’re both infected,” Mo says, his smile wider now.  “We don’t have to worry about getting sick anymore, you know?"</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“True.”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“The worst has already happened.  We can do anything.”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Anything,” Mohamed repeats.  “Why do I get the feeling that you mean something specific?”</i>
</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Mohamed Elneny/Mohamed Salah</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>19</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Quarantine</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>As anyone who's reading this probably knows, Mo Salah and Mohamed Elneny tested positive for covid while preparing for international break in Egypt.  They wound up taking a special plane back to England together where they were kind of intensely sectioned off from the rest of the plane.  And the <a href="https://www.instagram.com/p/CH0t2kfhkfP">whole vibe of this video</a> gave me some Ideas.  The way Mo is sitting...</p><p>So here I go again, creating yet another new ship tag on AO3.  It's a bad habit of mine.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p3">They’re about two, two and a half hours into their flight from Cairo to London and there’s really not much else to do but look at Mo.</p><p class="p3">Maybe it’s because they’re walled off by the quarantine curtain hanging down the center of the plane—the bad boys, the ones who did the wrong thing and got <em>the virus</em>—that it feels too claustrophobic to look anywhere but his friend sitting right in front of him. </p><p class="p3">Mo’s busy with his headphones on, his eyes glued to his tablet.Mohamed takes a video for his Instagram story.God, he’s bored.He would rather look at Mo than do anything else.Mo looks so comfortable, his legs spread out, his hand resting on his thigh.He’s wearing all black and it looks good on him like it always does. </p><p class="p3">Mohamed thinks he must be really bored to be noticing all of this shit.He clears his throat and gets no response from Mo, so he sticks his foot out into the small space between their seats and kicks Mo’s ankle.Mo pulls his headphones off and raises his eyebrows. </p><p class="p3">“Hey.I’m bored.”</p><p class="p3">Mo laughs.“Well, is that my problem?”</p><p class="p3">Mohamed ignores this and plows ahead with a conversation.“So how mad is Klopp?”</p><p class="p3">“That’s my business,” Mo says.</p><p class="p3">“Oh, come on.Tell me.”</p><p class="p3">“Well, he thinks I shouldn’t have gone to the wedding.”</p><p class="p3">“Yeah?Damn…that’s kind of cold.  Who tells someone they shouldn't go to his brother's wedding?”</p><p class="p3">“He didn’t say that in exactly those words, but I know him.”</p><p class="p3">Mohamed had seen <em>all </em>the Salah wedding content possible on Instagram.It’s not like he had anything better to do while he was quarantining in the hotel.“Not trying to be a dick, but you <em>could </em>have worn your mask, I guess.”</p><p class="p3">“No one else was...” Mo sighs.</p><p class="p3">“But you’re something...special.”</p><p class="p3">“And who am I to show up somewhere acting like that?” Mo says.Mohamed can’t tell what kind of look he has on his face—is he serious? Sarcastic? Joking?“Like I’m more special than anyone else?Not at my brother’s wedding, I’m not.”</p><p class="p3">Mo’s looking at him and he’s looking right back and it feels like he’s never seen Mo, his old friend, before.Maybe he never has, not like this, in this kind of tiny, shameful walled-off space.Well, curtained-off, but still. </p><p class="p3">With that haircut he got right after Lovren moved away (couldn’t be a coincidence, right?There’s just no way), he looks changed.Older, less happy.But not in a bad way.He looks like the kind of person who could sit alone with his old friend with his legs spread wide, in the softest-looking sweatpants, with his hand on his upper thigh for minutes and minutes and minutes.And Mohamed’s face feels hot.Very hot.</p><p class="p3">He reaches up to adjust the air above him, turning it to full blast.Maybe that’ll help.</p><p class="p3">“It’s hot in here, huh?”</p><p class="p3">Mo shrugs and puts his tablet on the floor. He takes his headphones off and runs his hands through those soft curls of his.Mohamed wonders how many people know how soft they are.Everyone who plays for Egypt knows.When they score and they all hug…it’s so easy to sneak in a little feel, a little tug, without anyone noticing. </p><p class="p3">“I’m so tired of <em>doing the right thing,</em>” Mo says, and one side of his mouth curls up in that kind of wicked smile the Liverpool fans might not know about.“No fucking <em>way </em>was I going to skip my brother’s wedding or just…stand in the corner all night.”</p><p class="p3">“I get it,” Mohamed says.“I feel you, Mo.I’m not judging.”Mo doesn’t curse in English, either.Mohamed likes being on this quarantine plane. He hates the pandemic, sure, but he likes being on this quarantine plane alone with Mo, the Mo <em>he </em>knows that so many others don’t.</p><p class="p3">“It’s lonely,” Mo says.“It’s not a good feeling for me, Mohamed.”</p><p class="p3">“Not for me, either,” Mohamed sighs.Why are they still staring at each other? “It blows, man.I’m tired of it too.”</p><p class="p3">Mo’s hand is <em>still </em>on his thigh and his thumb is tracing in the tiniest circles.He’s touching himself.The way wives touch their husb—fuck— “We’re both infected,” he says, his smile wider now.“We don’t have to worry about getting sick anymore, you know?”</p><p class="p3">“True.”</p><p class="p3">“The worst has already happened.We can do anything.”</p><p class="p3">“<em>Anything</em>,” Mohamed repeats.“Why do I get the feeling that you mean something specific?”</p><p class="p3">“Well, it depends on what you want.I don’t want to force you…”</p><p class="p3">“Force me to what?”</p><p class="p3">Mo’s just looking at him still, looking looking looking, and the tip of his tongue darts out to wet his lips.And Mohamed thinks: <em>oh, my God.</em>All those whispered rumors about him and Lovren—that he’s thought about more than he thinks the other guys have—that he’s thought about a lot because the way Mo glowed in his photos with Lovren was fucking <em>something </em>to see—</p><p class="p3">“Force me to <em>what, </em>Mo?Mo<em>haaaaaamed</em>.Make some sense.What the fuck kind of covid symptoms are <em>you </em>having right now?”</p><p class="p3">“Maybe…take off your mask?And I’ll take off mine.We look better without them, right?Or at least maybe <em>I </em>do.”</p><p class="p3">“Shut up, you brat,” Mohamed says, but he only half-means it. “We can take them off because…” He flicks the curtain. “This will still keep them safe.From us.”</p><p class="p3">“Right.”</p><p class="p3">Mohamed’s more than happy to whip his off.He’s so tired of the damn things. </p><p class="p3">“You also look better without yours, Mohamed,” Mo says.“There’s your smile…”</p><p class="p3">“So is this all you wanted?” Mohamed whispers.If he talks above a whisper his voice will crack from nerves.It’s not all <em>he </em>wants.<em>It’s not all he wants. </em></p><p class="p3">“No,” Mo says.With this haircut, his curls don’t bounce much when he shakes his head.“I’m tired of having to stay apart.Iwant to be <em>together.</em>With y—”</p><p class="p3">Mohamed will never know exactly how it happened.Did he pull Mo into his lap?Did Mo throw himself on top of him? Both?He’ll never know, but Mo is on top of him, his legs straddling Mohamed’s thighs—all that muscle pressing against him—and their lips coming together for the most miraculous kiss Mohamed has ever had.May his wife forgive him for thinking that, but it’s true.Mo’s mouth feels so sweet it almost has a taste.Not sugar, no, something thick and rich like honey.</p><p class="p3">Mo’s holding his face and his thumbs are running over his cheekbones.Unlike Mo, who knows just what to do with his hands <em>because the rumors about Lovren are definitely fucking true</em> Mohamed feels completely stupid about his.He finally puts one on Mo’s back and buries the other in his curls.Now he doesn’t have to sneak a feel and he never wants to take his hand away.</p><p class="p3">He pushes their heads together, their mouths even closer.They can’t make noise but he wants to.He has to resist it with every bit of strength he has. </p><p class="p3">Eventually Mo pulls his mouth away.His lips are so wet it’s filthy.“Mohamed,” he whispers.“How much else do you want us to do?”</p><p class="p3">“I, uh.I.”Mohamed has had certain thoughts inspired by those rumors.But he’s never let himself get into the details.“How much would you do?With me?How much have you—”</p><p class="p3">Mo puts his lips to Mohamed’s ears.“You’re the only one I’ll tell,” he says.“I’ve done everything.All of it.”</p><p class="p3">“Fuck.” </p><p class="p3">Mohamed lets his hand wander down to cup Mo’s ass.He squeezes, which is when he realizes what he’s been trying <em>not </em>to realize.Mo is hard and hot against his hip.</p><p class="p3">“You could suck me off,” he whispers. </p><p class="p3">“You would like that?” Mo asks.</p><p class="p3">“Your pretty lips around my dick?Yeah.Yeah, I would.”</p><p class="p3">“I didn’t know you were into that, Mohamed.I’ve <em>hoped</em>, but.”</p><p class="p3">“I mean.Yeah, I’m into getting my dick sucked.And I’m into—you.”</p><p class="p3">Why the fuck not, to any of this?They’re thousands of meters high, separated from the world by a curtain.Everyone’s leaving them alone.So why the fuck <em>shouldn’t </em>he grab Mo’s dick through his pants?No one will see, no one will know.</p><p class="p3">He does it and he does it pretty firmly.Mo jerks on his lap and breathes hot on his neck.Even hard, his dick’s not that big.But it feels nice.No, it feels amazing. </p><p class="p3">“Please tell me,” Mo sighs.“Please tell me what you want.”</p><p class="p3">“What I said before,” Mohamed says.“Suck me off.”</p><p class="p3">And he reaches to push his waistband down a little, working his dick free.Mo slides onto his knees and kisses Mohamed’s thighs, his pretty brown eyes staring, staring at Mohamed.Well, at his dick.</p><p class="p3">“It’s nice,” he says.</p><p class="p3">“What, you haven’t looked at it in the locker room?”</p><p class="p3">“I’ve wanted to.So I’ve tried not to.”</p><p class="p3"><em>Oh…</em>Mohamed thinks.Mo’s breathing is heavy as he kisses his way up Mohamed’s thighs till he gets to his exposed skin.And his mouth is hot.So hot.And his hand curls around Mohamed’s dick, which twitches in his fist. </p><p class="p3">“Oh…it’s very nice,” Mo says.“I like it a lot.”</p><p class="p3">He opens his mouth and slowly takes Mohamed’s length in.Mohamed can barely think, feeling the way Mo’s mouth expands, contracts, expands so expertly to fit him.His fingers are splayed out on Mohamed’s thighs, slowly digging in.</p><p class="p3">Mo’s mouth is just perfect, so much heat and warmth and the way he takes all of Mohamed in so easily—Lovren must be <em>hung</em>—Mohamed wishes they weren’t on this quarantine plane cause he’d want to talk to Mo, tell him what he thinks of his mouth and his greedy throat.But it’s the plane that’s making this all happen.He puts his hand in Mo’s curls and pushes his head forward a little more.Mo chokes for a moment, but he doesn’t pull away, no.He bobs his head up and down, his mouth tugging at the head of Mohamed’s dick and then sinking back down, up and down but never stopping for air.Mohamed slides farther down his seat so he can spread his legs more.He pulls Mo’s hair and Mo reaches to cup his balls, playing with them lovingly in a way no one has before.Imagine that, imagine getting to feel <em>special </em>while getting your dick sucked.He runs his finger over the curve of Mo’s ear and Mo shivers, rocking forward.</p><p class="p3">Mo takes his hand off Mohamed’s leg and moves it out of sight and it’s pretty easy to figure out what he’s doing.His elbow bumps Mohamed over and over and Mohamed is surprised by how intensely Mo jerks himself off.</p><p class="p3">“Hey,” he whispers.“You can slow it down, you’re going to accidentally pull your dick off or something.”Mo’s teeth nip the sensitive skin at the head of his dick and it hurts.He pushes Mo’s forehead back so he can see into his eyes.“You are <em>such </em>a fucking brat…did you do that on purpose?”</p><p class="p3">Mo looks like if he could laugh, he would, but then he closes his eyes again, fucking into his own fist.Mo’s intensity is making Mohamed feel close, embarrassingly close.He whispers this to Mo, and Mo nods and traces his tongue up the underside of Mohamed’s dick and dances it lightly across the head before replacing it with the hard pull of his mouth—he’s so good—a fucking pro—Mohamed thinks he should send Lovren a thank-you card because <em>damn </em>did he teach Mo well—and he whispers “Hey.Hey.You learn all this from Lovren?” </p><p class="p3">But Mo’s too worked up to answer, his back arching so he can sink farther onto Mohamed, his soft curls tickling, a little whine coming out of his mouth and it’s just—too good—</p><p class="p3">It feels both wrong and right—better than good—better than great—to bite his hand and come down Mo’s throat.He keeps Mo there with a firm grip on his curls so every single drop makes it into his mouth.Mo breathes out and in and out and in and his arm twitches.Mohamed bites himself harder—he <em>can’t </em>make noise—but but he hardly notices the pain because of how good it feels to come down Mo Salah’s throat.</p><p class="p3">As Mohamed’s breathing returns to normal he looks down to see Mo tucking his dick back into his pants—he’d never really gotten to take a good look at it—and trying to brush off the wet, white stain on the front of them with his wrist.</p><p class="p3">“Yeah, you might want a tissue or something,” Mohamed says.“I think I have some in my bag, hold on.”</p><p class="p3">“Thanks,” Mo says.He is a little sweaty.His curls are sticking up, unevenly, and Mohamed weaves his fingers through some of them and tilts his head back a little. </p><p class="p3">“You liked that, huh?” Mohamed asks him. It’s strange—you’d think Mo would be the one asking <em>him</em> that question.But Mo looks so wrecked, with his slightly pink skin and swollen lips.Just from one (embarrassingly) short blowjob.</p><p class="p3">“I did.”Mo sits back on his heels and smiles as he takes a tissue from Mohamed.He doesn’t even seem too embarrassed about it as he cleans his pants off.“Did you?”</p><p class="p3">“What do you think?”</p><p class="p3">“Well, I don’t have to think.”Mo licks his lips.“I can tell.I can <em>taste.</em>”</p><p class="p3">He slides back into his seat across from Mohamed.“I guess we have to put our masks back on, huh.”</p><p class="p3">“Yeah, I guess.But wait, Mo, hold on.” </p><p class="p3">“What?”</p><p class="p3">Mohamed pauses.“Just, wait a minute.The way your face looks right now.I want to…I want to look at it one more time.”</p><p class="p3">“I’m going to be the top scorer in the Premier League this season,” Mo says.“How will you feel remembering that you got your dick sucked by that person?”</p><p class="p3">Man, Mohamed <em>really </em>enjoys him—this Mo that the YNWA crowd never gets to see.“I guess I’ll feel pretty accomplished,” he says.“It’s too bad I didn’t get to watch him come all over his pants, though.I think I would have liked that just as much.”</p><p class="p3">Mohamed slips his mask back on.Luckily Mo hasn’t done this yet, so Mohamed can watch as a faint pink spreads across his cheeks. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Kudos and comments on this random nonsense would make my day! Year! Life!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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